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Children's Dialogs and Plays 

CROWNING THE MAY QUEEN.' A delightful May Day play. Children go May- 
lug, crown a queen, wind Maypole, encounter gypsy, etc. Great excitement. 85c, 

THE DOLL'S SYMPOSILM. Toy Shop at night. Dolls and toys have great frolic. 
Splcv dialog. Fancy drills and specialties lutrodnccd. Clever, 35c. 

THE JDOLLY SHOW. The dearest little "baby show" ever. Each little girl dis- 
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FAVORITE DRAMATIZATIONS. Contains "lied Riding Hood." "The Three 
Bears," "The Hare with Many Friends," "The Wonderful Piper," and "The 
Pumpliin Tree." All very desirable and easily produced by primary pupils. 36c. 

A GOOSE AND S03IE GEESE. A jolly little Mother Goose play with a very 
pointed climax. No bothersome scenery or properties required. Very amusing. 25c. 

THE HOLIDAYS' CARNIVAL. St. Valentine's Day, April Fools'. Easter, Hal- 
lowe'en, Christmas and other holidays represented by children. March, songs. 25c. 

THE KNICKERBOCKERS AT SCHOOL. A "Dutch" burlesque. Very comic 
presentation of old-fashioned Dutch school and customs. Quaint and funny. 85c. 

lilGHTHEART. Allegorical play in two acts. 7 m,, 12 or more f. Boy. assisted 
by Work, Courage and Wisdom, travels to City of Success, is beset by Folly, 
rescued by Li^'htbeart, bravest of Fairy Band, finally meets Love. 35c. 

ORIGINAL DIALOGS FOR ANY TIME. Splendid collection of witty, spicy, 
lively dialogs. We guarantee their excellence. Primary and Intermediate. 35c. 

PAT And his countrymen. Brisk dialog abounding with Irish wit, for gram- 
mar or high school. Splendid for St. Patrick's Day. Instructive. 2m. 25c. 

PETITE PLAYS. Collection of the spiciest comic dialogs, comedies and farces, by 
best American authors. Short, strong, witty ; not difficult. 2 to 6 parts. 40c. 

PUPPET PLAYS I'OR SPECIAL DAYS. Contains ten Puppet plays arranged for 
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ROYALTY IN OLD VIRGINIA. Historical play portraying thrilling events In life 
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SCHOOL PLAYS POR FESTIVE DAYS. Over a score of the richest, spiciest 
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YANKEE DOODLE'S TRIP TO DIXIE. A Revolutionary adventure. Full of 
patriotism. For grammar grades. 3 scenes. 6 m., 6 f. 30 minutes. 25c. 

Good English Week Entertainments 

GOOD ENGLISH PROGRAM. An up-to-date program to be used In celebrating 
Good English Week. In two parts, a bright, snappy minstrel and a mock trial 
of Bad Speech. 1% hours. 25c. 

THE DOWNFALL OF POOR SPEECH. The Queen of the English Language 
with her ladies-in-walting. assisted by gallant courtiers, wage war and defeat 
Poor Speech and his outlaws. A very desirable production. 25c. 

Plays for High School and Adults 

AL MARTIN'S COUNTRY STORE. Unsurpassed for merriment. Country store's 

customers, loafers, gossipers, lovers, etc. Splendid climax. Loads of fun. 85c. 
AND THE LAMP WENT OUT. A screamingly funny pantomimic performance. 

Clever beyond description. 2 males, 2 females, and reader. 35c. 
CABBAGE HILL SCHOOL. Humorous play for children or young peopl'*. New 

"skewl-marm" on opening day. Capricious pupils, august visitors, etc. 35c. 
CATCHING CLARA. An up-to-date commencement play. Great excitement, thrill- 
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THE CHARITY PUPIL. Boarding scLiool episode, lively with vivacious pranks 

and exciting times. Strong plot with happy climax. Splendid class play. 35c. 
A CORNER IN HEARTS. A clever and amusing little parlor play. All lovers 

propose to the same girl. Rich humor. Pleasing situations. 4 m., 1 f. or 5 m. 25c. 
THE CRIMSON AND THE BLUE. 6 m., 6 f. Highest type commencement play. 

Brilliant success. Acting rights free to purchaser of 12 copies. 40c. 
CUPID'S JOKE. Charming little drama In which Cupid gets "busy." Splendid for 

St. Valentine's Day or any social ocfasion. 5 m., 5 f. and Cupid. % hr. 25c. 
A DAY AT HAPPY HOLLOW SCHOOL. New play of the * Deestrick Skule" 

type. Full of wit and clever drollery. City auto party vs. -urnl youngsters. 85c. 
A DICKENS REVIVAL. An elaborate play Introducing 40 Dickens characters. 

Very clever plot which gathers interest and culminates in pleasing climax. 85c. 
THE DISPELLING OF BIG JIM. Negro farce. Big Jim is tried by officials of 

Big Bethel Church for misdemeanor. Great excitement. Darky humor. 8 m. 25c. 
THE GOLDEN GOBLET. Exceedingly clever farce with female cast, for Bachelor 

Girls' and Women's Clubs, etc. Uproar5r,usly funny. 12 females. 1 hour. 40c. 
THE HEIR OF MT. VERNON. Cc'onial Society play. Washington's sterling 

manliood and rare courtesy portrayed. Old plantation melodies, etc. 8 m., 8 f. 35c. 

(a) 



WHAT'S IN A 
NAME! 



A ONE ACT PLAY 



By 

BEULAH KING 



MARCH BROTHERS, Publishers 

208, 210, 212 Wright Avenue, LEBANON, OHIO 






COPYRIGHT, 1921, By 
MARCH BROTHERS 



58()5D 



^t\^ 17 1921 



What's in a Name 



A ONE ACT PLAY 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY 
He. • His Friend. 

She. The Landlady. 

Time: One hour. 

Scene 
[I'he ivorking studio of a successful artist, A 
single door, center rear, leads into the corridor of 
the huilding. In the center of the right (stage right) 
wall is a deep studio window. Against the wall, at 
left of door J sits a conspicuous mahogany chest, 
heautifully carved. On stage right stands an easel 
ivith' an unfinished picture, - and before this a high 
stool. Against the wall, at right of door, stands a 
plain deal table, over ivhich is hung a small wall cup- 
hoard containing a feiv plates, glasses, a box of 
crackers, cheese and a bottle of wine. Various can- 
vases, back to the audience, lean against the walls, 
ivhich are a neutral brown. The glow of an unseen 
fireplace illumines the left hand corner of the stage. 
Tivo plain chairs complete the furnishings. At the 
rise of the curtain, the landlady, a kindly, portly, 
curious old soul, is discovered sweeping the last bit 
of dust into a large pan, after which she fusses about, 
looking at the pictures, canvases and so forth with 
respectftd awe. A second later, the friend, a plain, 
ordinary -looking young man of about thirty, enters 
unannounced. The landlady turns, sees him, and 
offers her best smile of tvelcome.] 

3 



4 what's in a name! 

Feiend [much disturhed] : Where is he? , 

Landlady [curtseying] : He has this minute 
stepped out, sir. Aye, but I'm glad to see ye agin, 
sir. 

Feiend : Is it an appointment? 

Landlady: Sure and I don't know, sir. 

Feiend: The devil! 

Landlady: Whativer ails ye, sir? Ye ain't yer- 
self, that ye ain't. 

Feiend: Mrs. Murphy, what is all this I hear 
about him and a future bride? 

Landlady [shaking her head hnowingly] : They 
do be saying strange things, sir. 

Feiend [iciih a groan] : Then you have heard 
them too. 

Landlady: AVhat I hiv not heard! [Going over 
to him and speaking in^a ivhisper.] They be afther 
saying he has never seen her. 

Feiend : What ! 

Landlady: Yi.s, and more, too — that he has no 
mind to see her! 

Friend: And you believe all this? 

Landlady: I niver did understand the likes o' 
him, sir. 

Feiend: I suppose she's beautiful. 

Landlady [about to speak the important line] : Ah, 
that's a bit o' a mystery. They say, indade they do, 
sir, that she is plain of face with little eyes like a 
pig's. 'Twas an agreement 'twixt the faither and 
him — a kind o' daring bet. Oh, the saints have mercy 
on his soul. 



m 



what's in a name! 5 

Friend: Who is the father? 

Landlady: An old soldier — a colonel, if yell be- 
lieve it, sir. They met at a dinner and "they say, 
indade they do, sir, that they made the agreement 
there — in black and white! And the colonel is 
afther holding him to it. 

Friend \to himself] : If it weren't all so like him. 
If I hadn't seen him get himself into fool messes 
before. [To landlady.] What else do they say of 
him? 

Landlady [very eager to tell] : That he is a kind 
of wizard, if ye '11 believe it — that he brings beautiful 
maidens to life by a snap of his finger — so [demon- 
strating], and that he hides thim in his chists and 
drawers and brings thim out to play with at his 
leisure — indade, sir, as I live. [In a sepulchral whis- 
per.] One lives in that chist ! 

Friend [laughing in spite of himself] : Enough, 
enough! And of course you deny all this? 

Landlady [a hit hurt] : I'm denying nothin', sir, 
nothin' at all, at all. 'Tis many a night 1 have 
watched by yon keyhole hopin ' to catch a wee glimpse 
o' her. 

Friend [concerned only ivHh facts] : Does he 
seem unhappy? 

Landlady [anxious to make a nice picture] : In- 
dade he does, sir, and damp o' spirits. And yet 'tis 
hearsay he is a great man in his work. Ginerals and 
diplomats and the likes come to him. Why 'twas only 
the other day as I live he turned away Mrs. Larrabee 
Dix, and heavens only knows how much money with 
her. 

Friend: Does the colonel come here? 



Landlady: Indade he does. They are good 
friends, although for meself I can't see as how he 
likes the fellow, rough and gruff and as himself says, 
a social climber. [Bell rings.] Drat the thing. It 
has a way o' calling me when I least want to go. 
[At the door she turns, curtseys and wipes her eyes 
with the corner of her apron.\ Be aisy on him, sir, 
won't ye? Fer I'm lovin' o' him if he is a bit wild, 
heaven help me. [She goes out.] 

[The friend goes to the window, opens it and looks 
vp and doivn the street nervously. As he does so, the 
door at the 'back opens softly and a girl enters hur- 
riedly, out of breath from running. She looks about 
the room fearfidly, spies the man and decides to make 
a bold dash for the chest and hide herself. She gets in 
and IS about to loiver the cover when the friend turns, 
sees her, starts back in amazement, then makes a bold 
dash for the chest just as the artist, a lean, tall, in- 
teresting fellow of the cavalier type enters and way- 
lays him in the middle of the floor.] 

He [in the calmest manner in the world] : Jove, 
but I'm glad to see you, old chap ! | They shake hands 
vigorously.] Sit down, do. \An atmosphere of re- 
straint is evident.] 

Friend [placing himself where he can get a good 
lock at the chest] : No, let me stand. I much prefer 
it. [Slowly the cover of the chest rises and the girl 
within raises her "fiead cautiously, sees them and dis- 
appears suddenly. The artist has seen nothing, hut 
the friend, who is in a position to see all, can not 
conceal his amazement,] 

Friend [feeling he must say something but unable 
to cope with the situation] : So, it's all true what 
I hear. 

He: Eh? 



what's in a name! 7 

Friend: Oh—er— er about your rising impor- 
tance to the burg. ^ 

He: So they are talking of it, are they? 

//'"'^r' .^^f^ certainly are [not taking his eyes 
from the chest}. Why, they even claim you are a 
wizard, old chap. [The girVs head appears and dis- 
appears again as smldenl,,, and the friend begins to 
doubt his very good cye-^ight.] 

HE: Ugh, they do, do they? 

Friend [smiling] : They attribute to you the 
strangest things, the wildest things. 

.He [with a scornful lavgh] : And they are be- 
ginning to do that. Then I am famous. 

Friend [his smile deepening] : They claim you 
can conjure forth a beautiful maiden at your leisur^ 
and that when yo,i are tired of her you conceal he^ 
in yon chest. 

He [innocent and unsuspecting]: Yes ves- and 
what else are they saying? You might as well admit 
It my good fellow, for of course you have heard of 
niy coming marriage. \He goes over to the chest and 
sits down.] Tell us, what have you heard? 

Friend [who has one thought now, and that of the 
gnl m the chest]: I wouldn't sit on that chest. 
^He^ [rising alarmed at the expression of the other] : 

Friend [casually, for he intends to trap him sMy] j 
VVell, It doesn't look very strong to me. 

He [seating himself again on the chest's broad 
s^irface which has every appearance of strength]: 

Friend: But they often crack. 



8 what's in a name! 

He: All the better. It f^ives them an interesting 
look. Go on, what were yon sajang? 

Friend [ivith an effort] -. Er — what was I saying? 

He: Haven't had a sunstroke in Africa, have you? 

Friend [heginning to think something might he 
wrong with him] : No, no ; that is, not exactly, but 
I say — ^^is — is there any way air can get into that 
thing? 

He: What thing? 

Friend: That chest you're sitting on. 

He: Wliy? Thinking of making an incubator of 
it, or maybe a fireless cooker? 

Friend: No, I was just wondering how long a 
person could live in there shut up tight. 

He: You're not thinking of putting me in, are 
you? I know I deserve it, but well — there are other 
punishments, for instance, you might tell me what 
they are saying about my coming nuptials. 

Friend \ivith mi effort] : You really want to hear ? 
[For the time his attention is draivn from the chest.] 

He: I have armed myself. Fire! 

Friend [with frigid contempt] : They say you 
have never seen her. 

He: Right! Goon! 

Friend: God, man, what are you thinking of? 
She — she might — 

He: — ^be a hag. I know, but the die is cast. 
What else? 

Friend: You are mad. Think what you are 
doing. Think of her ! 



what's in a name! 9 

He [who could not he blamed for having been a 
long time aware of his good looks] : I do, and every 
time I think of her, I picture her delight at seeing 
me. Come, you don't think I'd do such a thing if 
I looked like, well — if I looked like you, for instance. 

Friend [ignoring the ridicule]: Jove! I can't 
believe it of you ; no, not even of you. 

He: And you would add you could believe most 
anything of me. Well, I '11 have to ask you to stretch 
your imagination a bit and believe this, for it's the 
truth. It all happened at a dinner party given at 
the country club. 

Friend: And you — you were? 

He: No I wasn't. Her father sat beside me. 
[Friend groans.] He's a jolly old chap and we 
found ourselves congenial from the first. We talked 
and joked, and before I knew — well really I have no 
recollection of just what led up to it — we had come 
to the agreement. [Pause during which both regard 
each other rather foolishly.] 

He: Alas! Would that you had never gone to 
Africa, Joe. Why did you go? 

Friend [with sincerity] : Alas, why did I go? 
[Artist bursts into a peal of laughter.] 

Friend : You seem delightfully happy for one who 
considers himself in a scrape. I believe you have 
seen her and you are satisfied. More than that, I 
believe she is beautiful! 

He: Upon my word, Joe, I have not laid eyes 
upon the girl nor her likeness. 

Friend: Then I have no pity for you. 

He [with exasperating optimism] : Perhaps I 
shan't need pity. Perhaps you will have envy for 
me in the end. 



10 what's in a name! 

Friend [thumping the stool top] : You are mad. 

He [with a thump on the chest] : Wait and see! 

Friend [recalled to what he has seen in the chest] : 
I say, don't misuse that thing. If you don't care 
for it, I'll take it, contents included. 

He : You seem to have acquired a sudden fondness 
for this thing. I never knew you to show such con- 
cern for it before. 

Friend: I wish you would take a chair. 

He: Joe, you are getting fussy. You never used 
to be. You are a changed man. [He stretches him- 
self full length upon the chest.] 

Friend [to himself]: Ah! It is longer than I 
thought. 

He: Eh? 

Friend [with a sigh of relief] : Yes, she can lie 
down. 

He [who has caught the word ''lie''] : What are 
you mumbling, an anathema against your poor mis- 
guided friend. 

Friend [heedless of the remark] : There is a hole 
in the side of it. [Artist regards him in utter amaze- 
ment.] Ah! [With great relief.] 

He : Still raving ? I believe you 're planning some 
dreadful crime — the suffocation of some fair female. 
Really you distress me. [Sitting up.] 

Friend [whose sympathies for the chest victim 
have got the hest of him] : You distress me. [With 
sudden heat.] I believe — yes, I believe all of them — 
all of the dreadful stories they tell of you. [He ?.>,' 
noiv convinced of the guilt of his friend.] 



what's in a name! 11 

He [starting up] : Joe ! 

Friend: You are a wizard. You conjure forth 
innocent victims and then you tuck them away as you 
would an old boot, when you are tired of them. 

He [alarmed at the other's apparent 7nad7iess] : 
Come, come, Joe, you are excited. This mad affair of 
mine has unbalanced you. 

Friend [much excited] : I tell you it has not. I 
laughed at their wild stories. I called them super- 
stitious, ignorant, but they Avere right! 

He: Joe, Joe, in Africa the sun is hot, and you 
never would wear a hat. [The truth is he does not 
know what to make of his friend.] 

Friend: Yes, you try to make out I have been 
sunstruck, but you know better. You know only too 
well your own nefarious works. [Turning on him.] 
What is in that chest? [The morning's excitement 
and the wild news have got the 'best of him.] 

He [moving aivay from the condemned ohject] : 
In this chest? Why, if I remember correctly, one 
pair of velvet curtains, a bit of brocade and a couple 
of shawls. 

Friend: You lie. There is something else. 

He: Something else? 

Friend: Do you permit me to look? 

He: Most certainly, if you doubt me. [As the 
friend starts toivard it.] Wait! [Friend smiles 
diabolically, thinking he has brought him to a con- 
fession.] There may be a silk robe after the style of 
Caesar's! [The ridiculousness of the remark inten- 
sifies that of the situation, and the friend begins to 
realize his imagination has run aivay with him. He 
decides not to make a fool of himself.] 



12 what's in a name! 

Friend [taking his hand off the lid] : No, I will 
take your word for it, but "by Jove, it's mighty 
strange ! 

He: Shall I open it for you? 

Friend: No, no; I beg your pardon. [Artist 
starts to reseat himself on the chest.] Kindly humor 
me by taking a chair. [Takes his arm and pidls him 
up. Artist takes a chair. During the folloiving con- 
versation the friend, still doiibtfid, although he has 
decided to act sanely, watches the chest from time to 
time, "but the girl's head does not reappear.] Now 
tell me when this affair des etrangers takes place. 

He : To-morrow. 

Friend : "What ? 

He : To-morrow. In fact, I was expecting the old 
gentleman this afternoon to furnish details — ^the hour 
and place, etc. He is late. 

Friend [with a gleam of hope] : What time was 
he to come? 

He: Don't take hope, my friend. He will come. 
You do not know him. And he carries in his inner- 
most pocket that black and white agreement with my 
signature attached. [Wildly.] And to-morrow at the 
appointed hour I shall meet — ^before the altar — the 
woman ! Ah, I see her, lean, hawk-nosed, like her 
venerable father, pale of face, gaunt — ah! 

Friend : Stop ! You have not sketched her true. 
She is fat, plain of face with little eyes like a pig's. 
You must know it. They have told me. They have 
seen her. 

He \wildly] : Ah-ha, she shall be my model. I 
shall put in vogue the fat lady. People shall envy 
he-. I will paint her little qjqb — little eyes like a 



what's in a name! 13 

pig's — in sucli a way that every woman will desire 
them. 

Friend: This is dreadful. 

He: Nevertheless, I shall be true to her to the 
end. I shall make her the envied of women. [He 
who has chosen to paint only the heautiful.] Por- 
traits I shall make of her by the dozen, and I am 
fast becoming the last word in the world of art. 
[Clapping his friend on the hack.] Go, go and tell 
them of the beauty of mademoiselle. Her eyes — little 
eyes like a pig's — shall be envied. [Pushing him to 
the door.] Go now. Go that they may be prepared 
and not taken back by her beauty. But never leave 
me again — ^alone. [He pushes'' the friend out and 
closes the door. For a minute he stands against 
the wall, dejected. There is a sound from the chest 
and the artist hears it and is suddenly reminded of 
his friend's nnusual interest in the thing. He gazes 
at it warily y then goes over to it and throws hack the 
lid, revealing the girl, who sits up. She has evidently 
slept, for she rubs her eyes in a dazed way. The 
artist, transfixed at the sight, stares at her while she 
stretches her limbs and steps out.] 

She: Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! [To him.] I 
beg your pardon. 

He [who has only enough of his senses left to he 
charmed with her] : Beg anything of me and you 
may have it. 

She: I — I — . It was so hot in there and I must 
have fallen asleep. [She sivays and he supports her 
instinctively. She is light as air and he picks her up 
and places her in the most comfortable chair.] Thank 
you [in a tiny voice], [He gets her some wine from 
the cupboard.] 



14 what's in a name! 

He: Drink this. You are faint. [Be holds it io 
her lips, all the while regarding her as the chimera 
of his dream.] Can jou drink? 

She: Oh yes, and I like port. [He is a little 
taken hack, hut still enraptured.] It — it was so close 
in there and cramped. 

He [puzzled heyond measure] : But I don't under- 
stand. [She hursts into a delightful ripple of laugh- 
ter.] How did it happen? And who are you? 

She : Of course you don't understand. [Wearily.] 
But I can't tell you now, I'm so wretched and so 
h — h — h — hungry ! 

He [starting towoi'd the cuphoard] : Jove, what 
an idiot I am I [He fetches some crackers and cheese 
and puts them on the tahle.] 

She: You see, I couldn't eat any luhch. One 
can't eat much when one is wretched. 

He [drawing up a chair hy the tahle for her] : No, 
one can't. [She sits.] 

She: I was quite sure this noon I would never 
want to eat again. 

He: I'm sorry, but I haven't much for you. You 
see I get my meals out at cafes, restaurants, any- 
where. 

She [biting into a cracker which is stale] : What 
a life ! 

He: They aren't fresh, are they? I'll go out and 
get some things. There's a shop down below here 
somewhere. 

She: And we'll have a feast. [The animation 
which is an habitual part of her retur^is.] Let me 
see — sandwiches, coffee — I'll make it — and a jelly roll, 
one of the nice big round ones filled with raspberry. 



15 

He [gciyly] : Coffee, sandwiches and a jelly roll 
filled with raspberry. I'll be back in a second. 
Adieu ! 

[He goes out. She watches him down the hall. 
At the top of the stairs evidently he has turned, for 
she waves loyally, then comes and hegins straigJUawaij 
to make preparations for the feast from his scanty 
supply of dishes and glasses, humming contentedly 
all the while. She pidls the table out to stage center, 
arranging and rearranging the plates upon it in her 
effort to make the best of things. Presently the door 
is opened cautiously and the landlady appears upon 
the threshold.] 

Landlady [with great satisfaction] : So you're 
here, are you? 

She [startled at the intrusio^i] : Oh! 

Landlady [coming in and shutting the door] : 
Well, I've watched and I've watched fer ye, and it 
seems I'll be afther havin' m' reward. [She stands 
gazing at the girl, who goes on with her prepara- 
tions, taking it for granted that the landlady is only 
ait inquisitive neighbor.] Yes, yes; just as I ima- 
gined. Bless my soul but I'll have a tale fer thim. 
[In a whisper.] Does he let ye out of tin? 

She: Do you kn w where he keeps the coffee pot ? 

Landlady: Holy saints, the poor child's starved. 
I'm afther thinkin' she ain't been out fer days. 

She [rummaging in the cupboard] : Perhaps he 
doesn't have such things. [To landlady.] Oh dear, 
can't you help me? 

Landlady [shaking her head] : Poor child. Poor 
child. 



16 what's in a name! 

She: Why do you stand there staring stupidly 
at me? Can't you see I want a coffee pot? 

Landlady: Oh m' soul, what can she be afther 
wanting of a coffee pot ? Wraiths and banshee have 
no use fer the likes o' thim. 

She [thinking the landlady a hit unbalanced and 
speaking in a softer tone] : Come, poor lady, I think 
you'd better be getting home. It's late, you know — 
supper time. [Landlady continues to stare.] You 
know supper time, don't you, and surely you want 
your tea. [Bravely, for she is really afraid 7iow.] 
I'd ask you to stay if I had some tea, but you see [ 
have nothing, not even coffee. 

Landlady: Tell me, m' pretty, does he let ye out 
of tin ? 

She [trying to humor her] : Let me out? 

Landlady: Yes — out of yon chist. I've watched 
and I've watched for ye. 

She [sweetly] : Do you want me to get back in- 
side the chest? 

Landlady [wJio has had enough for one day] : All, 
yes; I do think I'd be afther feeling a bit better. 

She [going toward the chest and glad of its shel- 
ter] : Will you go home after I do? 

Landlady: Sure and I won't be goin' home be- 
fore, m' pretty. 

She: Very well then. [She opens the chest and 
steps in, not taking her eyes from the landlady.] 
There, I'm in. Are you going? 

Landlady: But you ain't away in. 

She [scouching and half concealing herself] : Now 
I am. Please go. Your tea will be boiling over. 



what's in a name! 17 

Landlady : Holy saints, and she lives in there ! 
Ain't you cramped fer quarters? 

She [almost in tears] : You said you'd go if I 
got in the chest. 

Landlady: Yes, yes, so I did, and a promise is 
a promise, whether to man or banshee. [Opening 
the door.] Good day to ye, poor child. I wish I 
might help ye, indade I do. Oh m' soul, whoiver 
thought I should see a banshee in the City o' New 
York. [She goes ont, closing the door.] 

[A second later and the artist enters laden with 
bundles of various shapes and sizes, looks about for 
her and sees she is gone. Unnoticed by him she raises 
the cover of the chest to make sure it is he, smiles, 
winks and lowers the lid intending to fool him.] 

He: Whoop — hee ! She's got cold feet and gone. 
[He deposits the bundles on the table and stands for 
a moment not knowing quite what to do.] Well — my 
lady if you will desert me thus! Ah, you little 
know that you have broken my heart. [Using his 
philosophy, which is rather a cheerful one, for all 
its worth.] Never mind, I'll have the feast just as 
if you were here, my dear ; just as if you were here. 
[Undoing the bundles and placing the food.] Will 
you have ham or chicken sandwich? [Pause.] 
Chicken? Ah, I thought so. See, I have bought two. 
They shall be all yours, all yours. [Pause.] You 
don't want both? Ah yes, do have them. I prefer 
ham. But we ought to have something to drink. 
[Pause.] You couldn't find a coffee pot? Well, 
that's a shame, for I have one right handy. [He 
goes to the right hand cormer rear and fetches it while 
she raises the cover of the chest, consumed with 
curiosity.] It is a rather strange place to keep it 
I'll admit. [He puts in some coffee, goes to the fire- 



18 what's IX A KA.Mi:! 

place, pours in some water from a kettle hanging 
there and places the coffee pot on the fire.] But I'm 
a strange fellow, they say. — Ah, an excellent fire. 
Things will soon be humming and we'll have a right 
jolly feast. [Comes hack to table and sits.] You 
haven't said a word about the jelly roll, not a word! 
[Picking it iip.] I bought the biggest one I could 
find, and it's fairly oozing with raspberry, and it's 
all for you. [Pause.] You want me to have some? 
You little dear ! Of course I will, just to please you. 
[He takes a small piece, cheiving it sloivly and staring 
straight opposite, as if he actually saw her sitting 
there.] Oh you beauty, you wonderful creature ! 
[Chest cover opens a hit wider.] Do you love me? 
Do you? \Eeaches across the table and makes believe 
he is holding her hand.] I love you with all my 
heart — madly. Why did you come here to torture 
me? And yet, if you hadn't come, I would have died 
— yes, died. I shall never forget you. I love you — 
I love you — I love you! — [closes his eyes in agony] 
even although — I must marry her! 

She [popping out of the chest] : HER! 

He [only realizing he has her again] : YOU! 

She: Wliat do you mean, sir, by making love to 
me, when you are betrothed to another? [Stepping 
out of the chest with dignity.] Explain! 

He: I — I can — n — not! 

She: Indeed! 

He: Forgive me. 

She: Never! 

H,E: It is none of my doing — that other. 

She [who is suffering from a Uke cause] : None 
of your doing? 



what's in a name! 19 

He: No. 

She [m a whisper] : Is — is it your father f 
He: No, what makes you ask that? 

She : Well because you see I — I too am betrothed. 
[He groa^is.] Oh dear, how can I tell you to make 
you understand. \She goes over to the high stool and 
perches on it.] You see it begins so far back. It 
begins really way back when I was twelve, because it 
was then that I told papa I intended to marry whom 
I pleased, and papa — well papa said no such thing — 
that I should marry whom he pleased. 

He: The brute! 

She: But wait. And now he has chosen the man 
for me and I — I am sure I shall hate him — short — 
fat — bald — conceited. 

He [ivith understanding sympathy] : Ah, made- 
moiselle, how I wish I might help you. 

She: And papa is so determined. He — ^he was 
taking me to meet him when — when I escaped and 
came up here. 

He: You ran away from him? 

She: Well, wouldn't you run away from a father 
like that? [He laughs.] And I am never going back 
to him, never, because I can't marry that short, fat, 
bald, conceited thing. 

He: Ah, no; of course not. 

She: And so I lost papa in the crowd, and when 
my chance came I just darted up here and hid, and 
I thought whoever lived here would let me stay until 
dark. [Sniffing the air.] Oh, how good the coffee 
smells. [Getting off the stool and running to the 
fireplace.] It's starting to boil. [Goiyig hack to 



20 

him.] We'll have our feast, won't we, just the same ? 
You weren't expecting anyone? 

He: Not a soul. 

She [regarding the cmivas] : I thought perhaps 
some beautiful lady was coming — 

He: She has come. 

She: No, no, some beautiful lady to have her por- 
trait painted. Don't you understand? [Going over 
to him.] I'll tell you something if you won't tell. 
Promise ? 

He: I swear. 

She: He is an artist. 

He [in a voice of thunder] : WHO? 

She: The man papa says I must marry; the fat, 
bald, conceited thing. 

He: Impossible. [Imitating her manner.] Ill 
tell you something if you won't tell. Promise? 

She : Yes. 

He: The coffee is boiling over. 

She: Oh! [She runs to it, takes it from the fire, 
pours it into two glasses and puts the coffee pot hack 
on the fire. He watches her with admiration.] 

She [hack at the tahle] : Come, monsieur; every- 
thing is ready. The dinner awaits you, [He pulls 
out her chair and she sits.] There, I forgot. Oh 
dear, what a pity. You aren't hungry, of course. 
You had a breakfast and lunch, and it's only five 
o'clock. 

He [gallantly] -. Mademoiselle, I am always hun- 
gry. Let me see. Dm I have a breakfast? — No, I 
didn't, nor a lunch either, and if I remember cor- 



what's in a name! 21 

rectly, I entirely forgot my dinner last night. \He 
sits opposite her.] 

She [with feeling] : Oh, you must have been feel- 
ing wretched, too. 

He [taking sandwich]: I was! 

She: Let's not mention our wretchedness now. 

He: I like to mention it in your presence, for 
then, and then alone, it fails to exist. Why did you 
hide away from me? 

She : Oh, a dreadful old woman came in and called 
me a wraith and banshee, and I — 

He [laughing] : The landlady. She's perfectly 
harmless but a bit superstitious, that's all, and looks 
on me as a kind of wizard. 

She: Oh, is that it. [Surveying the good things 
before her.] Oh, how good the things look, how won- 
derfully good. I always thought I would like to 
market with a basket on my arm, but papa would 
never let me. I've never been able to do half the 
things I've wanted to, because of papa. 

H;e: Poor child. 

She [ivith enthusiasyn] : T never was so happy in 
my life. I hope I'm not putting you out. 

He [who has disregarded tivo important appoint- 
ments] : Never! 

She: Have I made you happy? [He nods.] 
Don't — don't you wish this could go on forever? 
[Nihhliiig a sandwich slowly to make it last.] 

He [staring at her over the rim of his cup with 
adoring eyes] : Forever and a day. 

She [at peace with all the world] : And don't you 
think this is delicious coffee ? 



22 what's in a name! 

He [who never knew what coffee could mean to a 
man until now] : It is nectar — and yet — it has a 
taste of coffee. 

She: Do you live liere — all — alone? 

He : All — alone. 

She; And aren't you terribly lonesome? 

He: Horribly. The sad part is I never knew how 
much until now. 

She [with some regret] : I suppose you are a 
great artist. You see I have just come here recently 
and I don't know much about the place and its celeb- 
rities, but somehow I feel you are one. \He shakes a 
sad denial.] Of course you're too modest to say so. 
I wish I might have my portrait painted. We would 
be jolly well acquainted by then, wouldn't we? How 
many sittings does one have to have? 

He [regarding her earnestly] : "Well, I might make 
sixty do. 

She: Sixty! Let's see. One a day. Sixty days, 
that would be ten weeks, just one fifth of a year. 
Two people ought to be pretty well acquainted in 
that time, don't you think? 

He: I've known them to get acquainted in much 
less. 

She: How long is a sitting? 

He: That's for you to say. 

She: Well, I wouldn't mind coming for the day. 
I could get our lunch you know. 

He [as if the words were sweet to him] : Yes, you 
could get our lunch. 

She [luith a squeal of delight] : Oh, wouldn't it be 
wonderful ! ! [Suddenly, as the realization of the true 



23 

facts sweeps over her.] Oh! \SJie drops her cake 
and stares straight ahead, gloomily.] 

He [catching her enthusiasm, not having followed 
her to the present mood] : Ah, yes, to get our lunch 
forever!! \ Suddenly a realization of ihe true facts 
sweeps over him. Tie rises and paces hack and forth. 
She puts her head on the tahle. When he has dis- 
covered her, she is sohhing.] 

He : Please. [lie raises her head gently and wipes 
avjay ihe tears.] 

She [rising] : I — I must go. 

He [in desperation] : Yes, it is the only way. We 
are under bounds. 

She [with a ivail] : Oh, what a dreadful world it 
is. Tell me — who — who is she — the girl? 

He: I don't know. 

She: You don't hnow. 

He: No, I have never seen her, but she has a 
father like yours. 

She: Poor girl ! \Fegarding him earnestly.] But 
then he can't he so dnadful. He chose you! [Wtth 
excitement.] But my father, think what he has chosen 
for me. Oh, I can well imagine my husband. 

He [a great ligJit breaking for him] : You can 
imagine him? You have never seen him? 

She [still in darkness] : No, nor do I wish to; 
fat, bald, conceited, a mediocre artist, painting fat 
dowagers for their money, flattering them, making 
pretty speeches — oh, it is too awful. 

He: But mademoiselle, how do you know he is 
thus? 



24 what's in a name! 

She: I know it. I know papa's taste. He likes 
this type and he wants to show his authority over 
me. Papa is a tyrant. 

He: But suppose, contrary to expectation, this 
man — 

She: Oh, no, he won't. I know papa. He will be 
as I have said — fat, bald, conceited — and I shall be 
obliged to endure him. Oh, I see it all. 

He \ivho Jias seen the light and is convinced and 
the happiest man alive] : But mademoiselle, you are 
too positive. 

She: Positive? But you don't know papa. Be- 
sides — oh — \she gives a little cry] he has told me 
the artist's name, and I — I feel sure a man with a 
name like that — 

He [no longer afraid to know the worst] : But 
what is his name? 

She [^5 if challenged] : Moses Jones ! 

He: Moses Jones? 

She [sidlenhj] : Moses Jones. 

He [repeating tt smiling] : Moses Jones! 

She [with some contempt] : You know him? 

He \wifh a hearty laugh] : Know him? I am 
IMoses Jones ! 

' Tahleau while she stares a moment incredulous, 
then goes into his outstretched arms.] 

She [from his shoulder] : What's — in — a — name! 
Why you are the one I have been running away from 
and I — I have run right into your arms ! 

CURTAIN 



Plays for High School and Adults 

HER SUPERIOR INTELLIGENCE. A comedy; one of the cleverest bits of re- 
frcshiug buoior ever conceived. 2 m., 1 t. One scene. 40 minutes. 35c. 

IILdWATHA DRAMATIZED. High-grade drama arranged from Longfellow's 
muNierpifce; vivid dramatic scenes. Contains description of costumes, Indian 
music, and other details necessary. Time, 1 hour. 35c. 

HOW SHE jVIANAOED IT. A bewitching young lady resorts to a very plausible 
plot for securing a proposal and succeeds. Ideal parlor play. Clever. 1 m., 1 f. 25c. 

IN THE WAKE OF PALL REVERE. Exciting incidents of revolutionary days 
woven into a charming play. Makes life in the old daj-s real. Delightful, 35c. 

JOY OF THE L. V. Thrilling Wild West play. Clover and humorous; depicting 
cowboys in love, jealousy and intrigue. Very meritorious. 10 m., 2 f. 35e. 

A LITTLE HEROINE OF THE REVOLUTION. Brave little girl with clever 
tact deceives British and passes their lines with message to General Marion. 35c. 

THE LOST VILLAGE. An eighteenth and twentieth century contrast. Inhabi- 
tants still live as (lid their Puritan ancestors. When Prudence returns a full- 
fledged twentieth century girl, things happen. 10 m., 5 f. 30 min. 25c. 

LOVERS OF AX,L AGES. Unique novelty for high schools, colleges, clubs, etc. 
Beautiful i)resentation of famous lovers of all times. 1 m.. 18 f. and Cupid. 35c. 

MARRIED TO A SUFFRAGETTE. Bobbs is left to 'tend the baby. Baby dis- 
appears. Reward ollered. Babies returned by the dozen. Rare fun. 25c. 

THE MASONIC RING. Society play of excellent literary merit, spicy and clever. 
A succession of provokingly funny climaxes. Splendid for any time. 40c, 

MOTHER GOOSE BAZAAJi. Money-making specialty. .Tolly folk from "Goose- 
land" do cute stunts, sing catchy rhymes, selling their wares, etc. 25c. 

OLD COLONY DAYS. Now dramatization of the Courtship of Miles Standlsh. 
reproducing story in language of tlie poem. 3 m., 1 f., or more. IVi hrs. 35c. 

A PLAIB FOR MERRIE MAY TYME. Adaptation of old English Maypole game 
and folk dance, with music of period. 14 females. 35 minutes. 25c. 

PUPPET PLAYS FOR SPECIAL DAYS. Contains ten puppet plays arranged for 
all the holidays and special days of the school year. Very easily produced. 40c. 

THE RUMMAGE SALE AT HICKORY HOLLOW. One of those little satires 
that provokes the merriest humor. Rare old treasures "sacrificed." 25c. 

THE SALOON MUST GO. An engaging but powerful anti-saloon play. Splendid 
for campaign. A bombardment of hot shot, song and story. 25c. 

SHAKESPEARE UP-TO-DATE. A nonsense play in which well-known Shake- 
spearean characters face present-day problems. 6 females. 30 minutes. 35c. 

TWO MERRY WAGERS. Society play for adults. 1 m.. 3 f. Plot interesting, 
style excellent. Good opportunity for Irish female. Plays about 30 minutes. 
One scene. 25c. 

UP-TO-DATE AMERICA or THE SWEET GIRL GRADUATE'S DREAM. 
Unique, humorous, surprising climax. 10 m., 10 f., or more. 1^/^ hours. 35c. 

VERA'S VACATION. Nothing so delightful as this absorbing "story" of a vaca- 
tion with summer boarders. Eccentric characters. Rich fun. 4 m., 5 f. 35c. 

THE WAIF'S THANKSGIVING. Play. Appreciation of wealthy lady shown 
waif, leads to recovery of her little kidnapped son. Charming. 5 m., 4 f. 35c. 

WHEN PAW-PAW COUNTY WTENT DRY. Thrilling drama of action. Ban- 
ners, procossious. son«-<, argument, love. Exciting plot. Loads of fun. 35c. 

A WOMAN'S PRIVILEGE. Three-act play suitable for high school. Foolish 
fads and fancies of present-day styles ; democracy in dress wins. A presentation 
of a needed reform. 3 males, 8 females. 35c. 

WOOING JANE. A bright and vivacious parlor scene. Thurston's train leaves in 
half hour. His proposal to Jane is provokingly interrupted, but he succeeds. 25c, 



Operettas 



THE BETXES OF FOL-DE-ROL. An operetta for adults. Written for voices 
of medium range throushout. Text and musical setting are most excellent; high- 
class production. S males, 7 females; chorus If desired. 50e. 

THE FLOWER NYMPHS' SURPRISE. Spectacular operetta. Music brilliant 
and captivating. Charming production. Good for last day. 8 m., 8 f. 85c 

JACK FROST'S MISTAKE. Clever operetta. Jack and Sprites "wake up" Santa, 
mistaking Thanksgiving for Christmas; brisk and jolly; 8 or more boys. 85c 

QUI.EN OF THE YEAR. Winter cantata for schools. Any number of boys and 
girls. Music simple, bat unusually pleasing. 25c. 

THE RUN-A-WAY BEAR. Full of spicy fun. Music dainty and exceptionally 
prettv. Introduces "Toddv Bear Parade." etc. Very clever. 60e. 

THE TOYS' REBELLION. Unique operetta. Dolls and toys refuse to leave Toy* 
land. Santa happily adjusts matters. Bright and pleasing. 40c, 

(b) 



Famous Funny Farces 

FIVE FOR 25 CENTS. NOT LESS THAN FIVE SOLD 

AUNT JANE VISITS SCHOOL. By Jeannette Joyce. Any number of males and 

females. Aunt Jane spends a morning in a modern scliool. A roaring farce. 

AUNT JERUSHA AND UNCLE JOSH. By Effie Louise Koogle. 1 male. 2 

females. These eccentric folks visit the school, producing no end of fun. 
AUNT LUCINDA STAYS. By Willis N. Bugbee. 2 males. 2 females. Two darky 

characters make lots of fun. Clever and clean. 
"BEAT IT!" By Willis N. Bugbee. 3 males, 1 female. A scolding wife makes 

trouble for everybody, the parson included. Oceans of fun. 
BETTY AND BETSY. By Willis N. Bugbee. 2 males. 2 females. Betsy was 

advertised for sale, but he wanted Betty. Bright and pretty. 
THE BUGTOWN BAND. By Archibald Humboldt. 4 males. 1 female. More, 

fun than you can imagine, and a little music which anybody can make. 
THE BUZZVILLE NEWS. By Hffie Louise Koogle. 2 males. 1 female. A breezy] 

conversation between the manager and new editor. A sure hit. 
DOT ENTERTAINS. By Elizabeth F. Guptill. 1 male, 1 female. Dot entertain; 
her big sister's beau, and the things she tells him are a plenty. A big succear 
THE GOOSE FEATHERBED. By Willis N. Bugbee. 4 males. 1 female. , 

dandy little play for Irish and eccentric characters. Easy and amusing. 
HASTE RLAKES WASTE. By Harriette Wilbur. 3 males. Young drug cler 

grabs the wrong bottle, and learns that haste makes waste. 
IN A DOCTOR'S OFFICE. By Jeannette Joyce. 4 males. 6 females. A laui 
able take-off on the specialist of today, in which some of the follies of humanit 
are exposed. 
LAUGHTER AND SONG. By Archibald Humboldt. 3 males. 4 females. OomI 

dialog interspersed with jolly songs, making a continuous funny story. 
LOOK OUT FOR HEZEKIAH. By Louise R. Ba.«;com. 3 males. 1 female. Haj 

seed parents visit college dean. Splendid opportunity for clever acting. 
THE LUNATIC OR THE PROFESSOR. By Ix)ulse R. Bascom. 2 males, 

females. Lunatic mistaken for brain specialist ; hard on the lunatic. Great. 
MORE TIME OUT. By Carolyn P. Rice. 7 females. An amuslnK comedy deali 
with the servant problem. The characters are strongly contrasted. Effective. 
NO PEDDLERS ADMITTED. By .Teannette .Toyce. 2 males. 1 female. T 

busy man intended not to buy, but the peddler had a suave manner. 
A PROPOSAL IN GRANDMA'S DAY. By Jeannette Joyce. 2 males, 2 

males. Full of fun. 
"OH, YOU TEACHER!" By C. A. Donaldson. 8 males. 4 females. A splen 
comedy of school life, showing the amateur teacher's trials. Suited for school*, 
ONE ON THE AGENT, By Louise Rand Bascom. 1 male. 1 female. A cle 

•kit, bright with telling repartee. Recommended for all occasions. 
THE "PHYSICAL TORTURE" CLUB. By W. N. Buffbee. 2 m.. 2 f. Phy»l( 

culture exercises for which Ma is too stout and Pa is too rheumatic ; funny. 
BASTUS BLINK'S MINSTRELS. By E. L. Koogle. For any number. 
"Kinky Koons" are killing; jolliest minstrel show ever; deluge of drollery. 
"SCAT!" By Louise Rand Bascom. 1 male. 1 female. Cunning attempt of 

old maid to prove her youth. Very laughable. 
SEEING THE ANIMALS. By Clart J. Denton. 1 male. 2 females. A 8 

hotel clerk, a suffragette and a siwlled child make a lively thne. A hit. 
THE SQUASHVILLE FIRE BRIGADE. By W. N. Bugbee. 3 males, 2 fem 

and other firemen, If desired ; bright and snappy ; easy and clever. 
THE STUPID WITNESS. By Archibald Humboldt. 3 males. The lawyer 
witness lock horns and have an awful time, but It's fun for the audi 
Swift and keen. 
THE TRAIN LEAVES IN TEN MINUTES. By L. R. Bascom. 1 ma 
females. Will they catch the train ? The suspense is punctured by fun and 
THE TRAIN TO MORROW. By Jeannette Joyce. 2 males, 2 females, 

fusion in a railway station. Strikingly funny. 
THE TRAVELING PHOTOGRAPHER. By Kate Alice White. 3 malei 
femaleB. He unexpectedly visits a farmer's family. All work is stopped 
they pose for the picture. 
AN UP-TO-DATE PROPOSAL. By Jeannette Joyce. 2 males. 2 femr 
Will keen the audience interested every minute. Effective when used i:^ 
"A Proposal in Grandma's Day," but each complete in itself. 
WANTED: A LICENSE TO WED. By Elizabeth F. Guptill. 2 males, 1 fen 
Humorous situation resulting from a misun'lorst:;nding, Irish dialect. 

(c) 




iBHARY OF CONGRESS 



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